Jail Food Poem by richard ilnicki

Tomorrow, my yesterday,
a band of bibliophiles arrested me.
They threw me in a cell on a block
reserved for the sick.
These quarantine diseased incorrigibles
threatened me with metaphors,
calumnies designed to make me shrink.
Then they took my bunk
and treated me like a mercenary
who was being paid by the word.

Today, I woke-up in my cell
and found no jailer
no inmates
no meals
no mercy,

No obvious lock and key.
I only found some bread and water
and an occasional tray
full of confiscated letters
floating in a bowl of suicide soup.